Dilly's Day at School
by Ginga
Summary: Dilandau+school=baaaaaaaaaad.


  
  
  
  
Dilly's Day at School  
  
  
Author's Notes: Yes, I know I still have to finish the   
Vision of Bob fics. I've already written most of the   
last one, but I'm too lazy to write it at the moment.   
This fic just sorta popped into my head last night, so   
be prepared. Warning: I thought of it after eating   
about half of my Halloween candy. Be afraid. Be   
VERY afraid.  
  
  
  
  
Folken's temper was at a breaking point. His mechanical arm had   
rusted. His cloak had gotten spaghetti sauce on it. His teddy bear refused to   
talk to him. And Dilandau. Ah yes, Dilandau. He shuddered to think about   
HIM. The last few days had been a nightmare. Then an idea struck him.   
He sent a servant out to go fetch the pyro. Five minutes later, he entered the   
room. "What is it, Folken?" The boy demanded irritably.   
"I'm sending you to school."  
Dilandau's eyes bulged out. "YOU'RE WHAAAAAT??!" He crossed his   
arms. "You can't make me." He said haughtily.  
  
An hour later….  
Dilandau sat in his first period class, his eyes blazing. How DARE   
Folken make him go to this…hell hole?! He looked down at the schedule he   
had been given. Chemistry? Sounds boring. Garnet eyes wandered onto the   
beakers that topped the tables. He looked around and saw another student   
turn the switch at the bottom of a metal object. A small tongue of flame   
turned on. Dilandau grinned insanely and did the same to the Bunsen burner   
at his own table, turning the switch higher and higher. He grabbed a beaker   
of some strange green liquid and poured it onto the flame. There was a loud   
BOOM, and the classroom was filled with strange smelling smoke.   
Cackling insanely, Dilandau experimented with more of the liquids until   
class ended. Pouting he left for his next class. Math.  
  
It was the most boring thing he had ever experienced. The fat and   
balding math teacher droned on about Pythagorean Theorem in a monotone   
voice, while half the class dropped off into a stupor.   
  
Half an hour later…  
"Mr. Albatou, would you mind telling us the answer?"  
Groggily, Dilandau looked up. "No."  
The teacher glared, a vein popping out of his forehead. "You will."  
"No, I won't."  
The teacher's round face grew red, the vein standing out even more. "Then   
you will go to the principal's office! Now!"  
Dilandau got out of his seat, stomped over to the teacher, and slapped him.  
  
Ten minutes later…  
Dilandau was glowering in a chair in front of a large machine, in   
which sat Emperor Dornkirk, the principal. A wheezing sound emanated   
from it, which Dilandau supposed was Dornkirk's snores. He stalked over   
to the wall, where the plug for Dornkirk's machine was. He pulled it out.   
The wheezing sound inside of the machine stopped abruptly. Smiling,   
Dilandau walked out of the principal's office and to his next class.  
  
It proved to be nearly as boring as math. A prim old lady, the english   
teacher, instructed the class of the horrors of not using verbs properly in   
sentences. Dilandau was NOT happy. He hadn't burned anything in nearly   
two hours, and it was beginning to drain him. He grabbed the book on top   
of his desk, which turned out to be a thesaurus. Flipping through the pages,   
he looked up his favorite word: burn. His eyes widening in excitement, he   
took out a piece of paper and began to write down his findings. There were   
so many words he could substitute for burn. Blaze, ignite, sear, flare, char,   
and incinerate were just a few. But none of them had the same ring to them   
as burn. Burn. Burn. Burn! Not able to take it anymore, Dilandau took out   
his handy dandy flame thrower and cremated the class, laughing insanely.  
  
Ten minutes later…  
Social Studies proved to be a much more fun class than the previous   
two. The class was studying the Salem Witch Trials. They watched a   
movie, where it showed actresses screaming dramatically as they were   
'burned' at the stake. Dilandau enjoyed it greatly. He left the class with a   
much happier frame of mind.  
  
Drama was also a thumbs-up. Apparently, burning women at the   
stake seemed to be the theme of the day. The drama class was producing   
Joan of Arc, in which Dilandau portrayed the judge who sentenced her to   
burn. He was congratulated by the teacher for his enthusiasm. But when   
they acted out the scene in which Joan (portrayed by a random Mary Sue)   
was burned, Dilandau decided that the cardboard flames were just not   
realistic enough. So he added his own. Ten minutes later, the stage was   
reduced to a smoldering pile of ashes.  
  
He was not looking forward to his last class. Home Ec? What the   
heck was Home Ec? ((OOH! That ryhmed!!! I'm so talented!)) When he   
entered the room, his eyes met with ten stovetops, piles of yarn, and a lot of   
other things that are usually in a home ec room that the author can't think of.   
Then something happened. Dilandau's eyes turned blue. His hair turned   
blonde. And a few things came into being that hadn't been there before   
(*cough*). Giving a squeal of joy, Dilandau…er…Cerena, set to work.  
  
An hour later, back in the Zaiboch floating fortress…  
  
Folken was feeling considerably better. He had washed his cloak, applied a   
good amount of oil to his arm, and Mr. Snuggles resumed talking to him. So   
he met Dilandau's return with a smile. "So, what did you do at school   
today?" He asked pleasantly.  
Dilandau looked thoughtful. "I blew up Chemistry, got kicked out of Math,   
burned down two classes, and…" He reached into his backpack to pull out a   
bag and hand it to Folken. "I knitted you a sweater!"  
  
  
Bad? Good? A complete and utter piece of crap? As   
I said, I was under the influence of lots and lots of   
sugar. Gomen. Please R&R!!!   



End file.
